


We wanted miracles (they didn't happen)

by elareine



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Dick Grayson, BAMF Jason Todd, Canon-Typical Violence, Communication Failure, Developing Relationship, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, M/M, Major Character Injury, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Psychological Trauma, Sharing a Bed, Soul Bond, Space Flight, Telepathic Bond, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: “It gave us an edge.” Dick shook his head. “I couldn’t risk the city blowing up just to spare your feelings.”“So you didn’t even ask.” Jason looked disgusted.“No. In the end, you’ve always done what’s necessary.” Even after everything, Jason was still a bat, and that sentence might as well be their family motto.Like a good little soldier.That brought Jason up short. His mind was static, and he gritted out: “Whatever. I want it gone.”“Oh, believe me, so do I.”(In order to defeat some aliens, Dick and Jason enter a soulbond. To get rid of it, they embark on a galactic road trip.)
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 53
Kudos: 440
Collections: JayDick Summer Exchange 2020





	We wanted miracles (they didn't happen)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pentapus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentapus/gifts).



> Dear pentapus, I started off working really close to your prompts, and then it turned into... this. I hope you like it! 
> 
> Detailed warnings (spoilers!): Different manifestations of trauma, fairly detailed description of a panic attack, off-screen murder and attempted kidnapping, major injury (involving the knee), consent-issues regarding a telepathic bond and the resultant violation of privacy, swearing, one blink-and-you-miss-it reference to past sexual assault

It was the end of the world. Again. By alien invasion. Again. 

Dick tried not to think of them as ‘your standard garden variety alien’ because that would mean he needed to seriously examine his life, but that’s what they were. Big, purple-ish, only saved from looking like Thanos by being covered in scales. Kinda boring if it weren’t for their weapons and the way they weaponized noise. 

Which, Dick acknowledged, was still the best-case scenario for wavelengths. The large emitters they used were capable of other things, Bruce suspected. He, Babs, and Tim were trying to dismantle the biggest one while the rest of the clan took care of the invading army. 

Oh, yes. The biggest one. _Of course_ the aliens had put a huge one in the center of Gotham because where else would no one notice. Big blue had probably taken one look at a futuristic building project financed by seemingly no one and destroyed it on sight. 

Poor Clark. The noise cannons were hell on him, even if with the ear protection Bruce had provided him with. 

They didn’t even know what exactly the fuckers wanted. “We are the Ki’ari,” the only thing they ever said in English, was not the most helpful statement. According to League intel, they were from the planet Ki’arus, quadrant 324B-D3, and not much else was known. 

(Dick had long suspected that Earth was the galactic equivalent of the ‘It’s free real estate’ meme.) 

Anyway, motive ceased to matter pretty quickly when you were faced with an army trying to kill you. Nightwing and Robin were doing a creditable job of staying alive and saving as many people as they could—until one of the fuckers managed to creep up on them.

Dami’s and Dick’s hands went to their belts, ready to throw a Batarang, take him out of commission, but it was too late. The alien turned the device in his claws against them. 

Immediately, Dick was rooted to the spot. He couldn’t—he couldn’t move, the noise, it was—

If this was hell for him, it had to be worse for Dami, who was much closer. Dick could see him sway, spasm. Then, in a slow, terrible movement, he fell to the ground. And stayed there.

“Robin!” Dick yelled, balling his fist, fighting his body, willing it to move. He had to get there, had to save— 

There was a small red-and-blue flash behind Dami, and then he was gone. “I got him!” a boy yelled. The alien lay crumbled before the wall as if pushed there by a strong force. 

...Dick was pretty sure Jon had been told to stay home and on no account join them. Oh, well. 

“Thank you. Get him to the cave,” he murmured, knowing that Jon would hear him. “And keep him there.” That should keep the two of them busy. Plus, excellent protection for the gaggle of people currently hiding there. 

His blood pounding in his ears, Dick kept going. He never wanted to admit, but as much as he liked having Robin or his team covering his back, fighting like this was freeing. No one to worry about but himself, anger flowing through his veins. 

The next alien went down without ever having so much as twitched a hand toward his weapon. And another. And another. Dick would not allow them to harm anyone else. 

…this next alien seemed to be down already, though. They were sitting down against a wall, hands clutching their side. That was curious enough to give Dick pause. Had any of the others passed through here? He thought not…

Unexpectedly, the alien spoke. “You are a defender of Earth?” 

A bit of a grander title than Dick would’ve chosen for himself. “Correct.”

The alien tilted his head to the side, then back. Dick reminded himself that that did not have to mean what it did to humans and waited. “I want to help.” 

“Why?” 

“They are a rogue group. I’m a representative from our home planet—a spy, I think you’d call it. I’ve been trying to sabotage their mission, but they caught me.” The alien’s hand moved, briefly showing Dick the deep gash in their side. It would’ve killed a human instantly. “The Ki’ari are peaceful. We do not wish to take over others. This group is an abomination and needs to be taken down.” 

Dick was tempted to ask about two dozen follow-up questions. However, another explosion sounded in the distance. There was no time left for a psychological evaluation. Either he trusted that the alien wanted to help him, or he didn’t. 

There wasn’t much left to lose. Dick decided to go for it. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Kibo.” 

“Okay, Kibo,” Dick smiled. “Tell me how we can turn the transmitter off. There has to some sort of way where your command controls them.”

“Two rooms. They steer every transmitter from there, to maximize efficiency and effectiveness by emitting the same waves at the same time.” Kibo got right down to business. Probably a good thing, considering how heavy they were bleeding. “The control centers are not by the main transmitter. They need to be disabled by two people at the same time in both locations.” 

“No prob. Which way do we need to go?” Dick asked, already pulling out his phone. He checked the blinking dots. Red Hood was closest, heading toward the east wing of the complex. 

He showed Kibo the map, and the alien pointed at two spots, marking them. 

Good. Jason was already close to one of these points. Dick would just let him know about the location of the control centers and off they could go. 

Dick was already dialing his number when he remembered—right, they were cut off. The first thing the Ki’ari did, really. “Fuck.” 

“I am dying,” Kibo told him in reply, which. Dick understood that was relevant to them, but honestly, not that much to himself, here. “I can give you a gift.” 

“That’s nice—” 

“Who is it that you are trying to reach?” 

“Red Hood.” That wouldn’t mean much to an alien. However, Dick wasn’t prepared to offer any more information. 

“And are you in good standing with this Red Hood?” 

No. “It’s fine.” 

Something that sounded suspiciously like the alien equivalent of a sigh passed Kibo’s ‘lips.’ “Well, it’s worth trying anyway. Think of him, please. Picture him in your mind's eye.” 

Yeah, Dick wasn’t just going to do that. “An explanation first, please.” 

“Our species has the ability to form soulbonds—psychic links, I suppose you could call it.” Kibo grunted, spasming. It took them a moment to continue. “We can bestow them on others. It allows for mental communication across a wide range.”

Oh. Telepathy. Dick considered the offer. 

It would certainly come in handy right now. However, of all the people in his family, Jason was the last one Dick’d pick for this. But what were his options here? Everyone else was too far away or busy. Jason was at least clearing the relevant area. 

Dick made his decision and started picturing Jason’s face in his mind. “Okay. Go ahead.” 

A moment of silence, then Kibo said: “Please go deeper than the surface. You know this human, correct?” 

Did he? Dick was not remotely comfortable with the question, or the fact that Kibo seemed to be at least sensitive to his thoughts. 

He focused on the last time he’d seen Jason. Hanging at the edge of the vigilante gathering as always; ready to cooperate to take down the invading force, but not really part of the group, either. 

Dick had heard him check in with Roy and Kori, though. That had been reassuring. 

Something in his head snapped into place.

Dick caught himself raising his hand to his head as if he would find a physical alteration that explained the new presence in his head. This wasn’t like when one of the Martians spoke to him telepathically. There were no words, not really, more mumbling and the sense of movement, of physicality. 

He thought experimentally: _You need to head East._

 _WHAT THE FUCK_. 

Dick winced. Ouch. Figured Jason would be loud even in his own head. 

_Oh fuck off, you’re—IN MY OWN HEAD? YOU’RE IN MY HEAD?_

_…can you please stop yelling?_

_NO._

_I received information about shutting off the main transmitter._

_Nice, now WHY ARE YOU IN MY HEAD._

Dick sighed, exasperated despite himself. _Look, it’s telepathy, who hasn’t it happened to before at this point? Can we concentrate on the aliens destroying this city before they do any more damage?_ To underline his point, Dick focused on a memory of the destroyed street outside, people fleeing in panic, the community center going up in flames. (Again.) 

He had no idea if that was actually how their apparent telepathy worked, but something must’ve come through because Jason conceded with a grumble: _East?_

_Yes._ Dick looked at the map. _Can you see what I see?_

_Kinda blurry._

He focused all of his attention on the display in front of him, explicitly trying to memorize the part that concerned Jason. 

_Better,_ Jason commented. Dick got a vague sense of movement from him. _So why are you not heading there?_

_Two control centers. Need to be shut off at the exact same time in the exact same way, so don’t do anything when you get there._

_Am I allowed to, I don’t know, take care of the aliens shooting at me?_ Jason asked, and then he actually waited for Dick’s reply ( _Yes, duh,_ ) before moving against his attackers, the motherfucker. 

That was when Dick remembered his own situation. He had to drag himself back there, take in his surroundings. Jesus, that had been too immersive. Not a good idea to get lost in your (or Jason’s) head while under enemy fire. 

There was no one around. Phew. 

“Thank you,” Dick said, turning around. “I think another twenty minutes, and we should be good to remove the telepathy again— _Fuck_.” 

Kibo was clearly and irrevocably dead. 

_What._ Even Jason’s mental voice was flat. 

_The alien who gave me the telepathy just died._

_Cool, so we just torture another one until he removes it._

_Transmitters first._

A sigh. _I guess._

The sound of footsteps brought Dick back to the present. Quickly, he swung himself up to the ceiling, observing the dozen or so alien warriors passing their dead ex-comrade below him. 

Technically, he could let them pass him unseen. In practice, the group was heading the same direction he was. 

“Looking for someone?” Dick asked, then grinned when they whirled around. “Oh, sorry, I forgot. You’re looking for _everybody_. Invasion, and all that blah blah.” 

It wasn’t a particularly good line. It didn’t have to be; it just had to distract them for long enough that Dick was able to slap the one transmitter he could see from the group leader's hand with a Batarang. 

He jumped into the fray right after, taking down three of them in quick succession before one of them managed to grapple him, trapping his arms under him. Dick snarled and twisted, tearing his hand free and gripping the alien’s neck with it. Nerve strikes weren’t effective when the nerves were in a different place, but choking always worked. His leg shot out, hitting another assailant in the stomach, and then they were off. 

_I’m at the control center,_ Jason told him when Dick sprinted off from the scene of the fight. _You’re slow_. 

Dick did his best to produce a mental eye roll. 

_Figure out what we need to do to turn them off in the meantime._

_Yeah, that’s pretty self-explanatory._

Dick waited, but no image followed. _Care to elaborate?_

_Nah. You’ll see._

_Time is of the essence. If you have knowledge that could speed this up—_

_Hey, I’m not the one running to catch up._

_Hood._

_Nightwing. There’s a literal button labeled ‘off.’_ There was finally an image; almost too late to be useful, because Dick saw the door to what must be the correct room in front of him, and he was opening it before he really registered what Jason was sending him. 

Then he was a little busy taking care of the two alien guards. That only took a minute, tops, so: _stop bitching, Jason._

_Do you kiss your daddy with that mouth?_

_Do you ever shut up?_

_Dude, you were the one who WANTED TO GET INTO MY HEAD._ Dick could almost hear Jason trying to shove his rage down. 

Refusing to acknowledge that point, Dick examined the controls. There were screens and buttons and more screens. Yes, they were labeled and color-coded. However, that was distinctly not English or any other language Dick knew or had ever seen. 

_Literally labeled 'off'?_

_Patterns._ Jason’s mind sent him a quick succession of images linked to conclusions. It was a bit like watching Babs write code, a list of if, then, except. As Dick watched, he could see what Jason meant. Yeah. 

Top-right corner. _Off._ Coded with two colors, so… 

_Needs to be activated at the same time. That’s why it’s two._

_Aaaand he catches on._

_Took me twenty seconds, and you’ve been staring at it for… how long?_

_Again, you’re the one who’s late, so I’m not sure you really wanna go there, buddy._

_Only after—_ Dick decided to focus back on the issue at hand. _Anyway. Push on my mark. 3…_

 _Of course it’s on **your** mark, _Jason thought. Dick saw his hand hover over the button, anyway. 

_2…_

_1…_

They pushed, mind and bodies in perfect harmony. 

For a second, nothing happened. 

_Aww, really? If you tell me I’ve been listening to your sanctimonious bullshit for nothing—_

Dick shushed him. _Listen_. 

There was a low, rumbling sound, and then, silence—a silence that hadn’t been there before, as if there had been some low noise Dick hadn’t been aware he'd been hearing until it was gone. Like, say, a big machine in the center of Gotham turning off. 

_Well, fuck me._ _They’re leaving. That’s pathetic._

On the screens, Dick watched as the aliens scrambled back to their ships, leaving behind their dead and ruins. 

Dick had no intention of stopping them—what were they gonna do, put them on trial for ‘world invasion?’—until Jason told him: _Just tried to get one of them to break the bond. Didn’t work._

 _Awesome_. 

Dick… didn’t really feel like dealing with that. Luckily, there were plenty of things on his to-do list to distract him. He started by doing what one does after a successful operation: He called the leader of the troops. 

“Nightwing,” Bruce’s voice was relieved. “What happened?” 

“Hood and I took down the control centers for the transmitters.” 

“Well done. Casualties?” 

“None on my side.” Plenty on Jason’s, but he wasn’t supposed to know that, so whatever. Dick wasn’t covering for him, but he wasn’t about to start that particular argument, either. Bruce probably heard the truth in what he didn’t say, either. “Are you guys alright?” 

“Fine. Red Robin took a hit, but he was able to go on. You?” 

“Robin was extracted by Superboy after a tangle with a transmitter. Presumably nothing serious. I’m fine.” 

_As am I, thank you for asking._

_You’re not in this conversation._

For a second, Jason’s mind was just… silent. Dick didn’t know a brain could do that. 

_You’re right. I’m not._ Instead of sending further thoughts, he… remembered a song? Something French, and Classical sounding. Opera? 

“…Nightwing?” 

Fuck. Dick needed to get a handle on this shit. “Sorry, B. You were saying…?” 

Bruce did not repeat himself. “What’s going on? Report.” 

“Nothing.” He wasn’t about to drag the rest of the family into this if he could help it. Hopefully, they’d take care of this quietly and quickly. 

“Nightwing. _Report._ ”

Dick pressed his lips together, swallowing the first retort that came to mind. “Just a situation. I will inform you later if necessary.” 

There was a long pause. Presumably, Bruce was waiting for him to feel guilty and placate him. Well, fuck him. Dick hadn’t been reporting to him in a long time, and he had no intention of starting to again. 

“Understood,” Bruce finally agreed. And Dick knew he did. 

Clean-up was a messy affair. No one liked viewing the bodies, but… it had to be done. All of the vigilantes assisted the police as well as they could. Well, Jason had vanished after thinking _meet me outside the complex in thirty minutes_ at Dick, but the rest of them did. 

When he stepped outside close to the half-hour mark, he couldn’t help but wince. A single police officer was lining up rows of bodies, presumably readying them for transport. 

“Yeah, it looks bad,” the officer agreed. “Never thought I’d say this, but I think I prefer Arkham breakouts over this. They even got a colleague of mine, poor bastard. Didn’t know he was on patrol today.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, well.” The officer shook his head. “I gotta check the side streets. Take care.” 

“You, too.” 

Dick, however, was still looking at the body of the police officer on the ground. He knew that guy. Erik Sonderheim. Suspended several times for misconduct on the job, including allegations of racial prejudice, sexual harassment, and excessive use of force. He’d always been reinstated—possibly because the head of the police union in Gotham went golfing with him. He’d been one of the officers on the long list of people Bruce had intended to pay a visit to shortly, Dick knew. 

And Erik’s head hadn’t exploded because of the use of an alien weapon. No, a very Earthly bullet had caused that. 

When Jason entered the street, Dick knew his mind was screaming of his anger and disbelief. So was Jason’s when he saw him. Good. 

Jason’s stance, however, was defiant; his tone was cool, collected, as if he wasn’t spitting into the face of everything Dick had worked his entire life for. “He decided to view the alien invasion as an opportunity.” 

“For what?” 

“Abducting his ex-girlfriend. I politely asked him to let her go. He didn’t.” Jason shrugged. “I didn’t have much time, what with the, you know, _alien invasion_.” 

“Right.” Dick snorted. He didn’t believe a word of this. “Good to know that even during an emergency mission where the city is at stake, you still find time for your revenge.” 

_**You fucking—** _

“Is that why you decided to get into my head, then?” Jason’s control slipped. His hands curled up into fists at his side. “To control me better? Keep track of the black sheep, make sure he doesn’t do anything that might be inconvenient for you or your reputation?” 

Dick mentally rolled his eyes. Jason was _so_ dramatic. As if any of this had ever been about control. 

Then he remembered that Jason probably heard that, and brought his brain back to the matter at hand, shoving down his own anger with some difficulty. 

“You were closest to the other center, that is all.” 

“That’s not a good enough reason, asshole!” 

For the life of him, Dick couldn’t understand this man. Every cell in Jason’s brain screamed of his anger… for _Dick saving the city?_ “I did what needed to be done.” 

“Yeah, that’s a nice line you picked up from B,” Jason spat. “It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“You can’t deny being able to communicate mentally gave us an advantage.” 

“For the price of, you know, being in my head.” 

“It gave us the edge.” Dick shook his head. “I couldn’t risk the city blowing up just to spare your feelings.” 

“So you didn’t even ask.” Jason looked disgusted. 

“No. In the end, you’ve always done what’s necessary.” Even after everything, Jason was still a bat, and that sentence might as well be their family motto. 

_Like a good little soldier._

That brought Jason up short. His mind was static, and he gritted out: “Whatever. I want it gone.” 

“Oh, believe me, so do I.” 

They contemplated the problem in silence, neither of them coming up with much of a plan. Finally, Dick offered: “Look. I’ll call Bruce, and maybe Zatanna. They can fix it.” 

“I don’t need to be around for that.”

There was an undercurrent of… fear? But that was ridiculous. Jason had no reason to feel unsafe around Dick. If anything, it was the other way around. Jason had pointed his guns at him more than once. 

“Might be better.” 

“I wasn’t around when it was formed, either, so what does it matter?” 

Dick gritted his teeth and ignored that. “Okay. And if they can’t do it… Kibo said the home planet of this force was peaceful.” 

“They sure showed that.” 

“Hey, would you like us to be judged by our worst?” 

“We frequently are,” Jason pointed out. Then his shoulders slumped. “So what’s the idea? Go find them and ask them to kindly reverse the damage their spy did?” 

“Why not?” It would not be the stupidest mission plan Dick had ever followed. “I can get us a spaceship. We could leave tonight.” 

“Tomorrow,” Jason said. He didn’t offer any reasons; Dick could hear them in his head: _Check up on Kori and Roy, tell Big M what happened, see if the girls need help, get cleanup in Park Row on the way, meet Sonderheim’s widow…_

“Sonderheim’s widow?” Dick asked and immediately cursed himself for it at the flat look Jason threw him. 

“None of your business.” And with that, Jason began thinking of _If you like Pina Coladas~_ all the way until he was out of range. 

“Just bring her back in one piece, or Jess will skin me alive, is what I’m sayin’.” 

Dick smiled. “We will. Thanks, Hal.” 

“Sure. Well, good luck, and remember to call if you need help.” Hal shook Dick’s hand, then nodded at Bruce. “See you, Bats.” 

Bruce watched him fly off with his usual Hal-Jordan expression, which was to say, utter blankness. Then he turned to Dick and said-asked: “I suppose it is necessary.” 

Dick considered the inherent proposition. They could just… wait it out. Find someone else who could help, maybe, or learn to adjust, live with it. 

Dick didn’t think he could do that. Jason’s head was either loud or terrifyingly quiet. Dick didn’t want to know that, didn’t want Jason to know _him_ , didn’t want to be—to be infected or distracted or—

“It was an asset during the battle,” he said carefully, “but now it’s a liability.” 

“Hmm. I would come with you, but… something has come up with the League.” 

Dick waited, but nothing followed. 

Of course. Bruce wouldn’t want to share sensitive information with Dick when it might be passed on to Jason through the bond. Dick’d had no idea things were still that strained between Bruce and Jason. Not like he was surprised, though. Those two had mountains of trauma and hard-headedness to work through. If only Jason could see that Bruce meant well and stop provoking him with these guns…

There was a flicker of—of _something_ at the edge of his consciousness. Of course Jason would hear that one. Well, let him, Dick thought. Might do him some good. 

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Dick reassured him. “And someone has to be here to make sure Dami actually waits for his injuries to heal before he goes out on patrol again.” 

Bruce grunted. “That boy is reckless.” 

“Unlike his father,” Dick teased gently, recognizing Bruce’s worry for what it was. 

“I take grave offense to that.” Bruce didn’t exactly smile, but there was humor in his expression. At least until he asked: “Is Jason coming here?” 

“No, we’re meeting at the airfield. Less conspicuous that way.” Also, Jason had flipped him the mental bird when Dick had asked if he’d come to the cave. 

“Hmm. Good luck, then.” 

“Thanks. You, too.” 

The problem was: On a spaceship, there was nothing to do but listen. 

It took three hours until Dick broke. “Can you at least choose a different song?” 

“Dick. You’ve been going through Britney Spear’s entire catalog.” 

“The important word being _catalog_ , not one single song,” Dick retorted. “Also, are you insulting Britney?” 

To his surprise, Jason shrugged. “Nah, it suits you.” 

“Thanks.” Dick preened, just to piss Jason off. “Still. It’s driving me nuts, okay? _Please_ think of something else.” 

A grin unfolded slowly on Jason’s face. “Okay. I won’t think of that song again.” 

Dick knew better than to thank him. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“You’re off-key even in your head,” Jason informed him, instead. “So maybe try to remember the songs and not sing along, okay?” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay. Well, this has been a lovely conversation, but I will now have to go elsewhere, do something else.” 

“Have fun.” As Dick watched, Jason put a swing into his hips, swaying to the door rather than walking… and then it started: _When I dance they call me Macarena—and the boys they say que soy buena—they all want me—_

Dick groaned. He was doomed. 

For lack of anything else to do, they went to sleep. Might as well catch some rest, something severely lacking in their regular lives. 

A terrible, horrible, no-good idea. 

Now, at thirty-three, Dick couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t regularly visited by nightmares. Or, rather, he could, but it seemed unreal to him—like something of a fairy tale, something that happened to another person, not him. 

It was fine. Seriously. Dick understood that he gave his brain a lot of scary things to process every day, things that the ‘I don’t wanna be prey’ organ just wasn’t made for. So of course they would be processed at night. And if that meant bad dreams, well, that was just the price he paid. 

Anyway, most of the time, it wasn’t an issue because Dick, uh, barely ever slept. (Please no one tell that to Wally, or Donna, or—just to no one. They thought he was doing better.) It wasn't that he _avoided_ it; he just didn’t have the time. There was so much to do. 

When he did sleep, it was mostly after an adrenaline crash, and never longer than a few hours. So that was okay—no time for dreams. 

Well, now he was sleeping, and there was plenty of time. Dick was tired enough that he’d go right to sleep, though not black-out exhausted. Took more than an alien invasion for that. 

Jason, in his head, was silent. Dick decided to take that as restful, not unnerving, and closed his eyes. 

When he woke up drenched in sweat less than an hour later, he could not have told you what he’d dreamed about. It was a mess of darkness and bright light and laughter and air whooshing past him and the crunch crunch crunch of bones— 

Dick dug his fingers, his nails into his arms until they bled. He was achingly aware of Jason, on the other side of the wall, sitting up in the exact same position, clutching his guns. 

_This is—_ Dick didn’t know how to finish the sentence. 

_Yeah,_ Jason agreed anyway. 

Fucking telepathy. 

They sat in silence. It was almost comfortable enough for Dick to fall asleep again, except he never wanted to sleep again. 

_Sleeping in shifts?_ Jason finally offered. 

_Yeah._ _Yeah, that seems smart. You wanna start?_

_Not particularly, no._

Dick swallowed. He should offer to go first, then. He was the older one, right? But he was still vibrating with the tension of his dream, and if he went back now, it might be worse—he still had that swooping feeling of falling in his stomach, making it difficult to breathe— 

Dick forced himself to inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He was sitting on firm ground. Or rather, as grounded as a spaceship could be, but he was not falling. He was in bed. The cotton was soft under his fingers. His skin was slightly sticky with sweat. The air smelled of air conditioner and plastic. His mouth tasted dry and faintly sweet. He was here. He was okay. 

When he checked back in with him, Jason gave him the distinct impression of staring. Which was impossible enough through a wall. It also contained the sensation of never-seen-before, which was ridiculous. 

All the other asked was: _You’re kinda a mess, aren’t you?_

Dick was too tired to take umbrage. _You knew that._

_Did I?_

_Duh. Everyone does._

Jason didn’t reply directly. _Wanna do the unhealthy thing and get drunk instead?_

_I don’t think there’s any alcohol on the ship._

_Fuck me. A Green Lantern ship and no alcohol? What’s the world coming to? Well, shit, I guess we’re gonna have to actually deal with the issue then. Never my favorite occupation, but—_

_You ramble even in your own head, huh._

_Because you’re great at keeping quiet, right? What, would you prefer me to just be quiet while we both stare at the wall and pretend we can’t hear each other think?_

_Honestly, yes._

_Fine._

_Fine._

So they did. Not one of Dick’s best nights. 

He got up sometime later, feeling… well, not rested exactly, but okay. There was something to ‘if you can’t sleep, at least rest your eyes,’ after all. After a few stretches, Dick felt as good as new. 

He’d packed—only a duffle back, but one that held some comfortable sweatshirts, among other things. Dick had been on spaceships before. Aliens and Lanterns hadn’t figured out air conditioning any better than humans. 

Once he was dressed, he turned to the next order of business. It was… evening, right? His internal clock was a bit out of it, which didn’t matter all that much when you were traveling through space and nocturnal anyway. 

Whatever time it was, it was time for food. 

As expected, there were plenty of rations. Dick took the most reasonable looking ones and arranged them on some plates so they looked less sad. No point in depressing yourself unnecessarily. Also, he was bored. 

When he was about to tuck in, Jason entered the room, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He was clearly less bothered by the cold than Dick. The shirt was tight, showing off both the outlines of his arm muscles and of his gun holsters. 

Dick smiled at him in greeting and motioned to the food on the table. It was his usual smile, the one for family and friends and allies, which was weird enough to offer Jason, who didn’t fall into any of these categories. 

Even weirder was Jason’s, “Knock it off, I can literally hear your brain working behind that pretty face.” 

Okay, then. 

The thing was. Just because Dick was awake, didn’t mean he couldn’t see Jason’s nightmares anymore. Sure, not being pulled right into them was an improvement. But _Jesus Christ on a bicycle_ , not by much. 

It wasn’t that Jason dreamt of dying. Dick could’ve dealt with that; he knew how it felt. He was ready for the anger, the hate, the first time Jason went to sleep and Dick didn’t. 

No. Jason dreamt of the moment he’d woken up in that grave, of digging his way out, of not remembering who he was or where or why, but achingly certain that he was alone. That there was no one looking for him. No one to welcome him home. 

And then, of being proved right. 

The first time Dick had felt that aching, unbearable loneliness, he’d spent a whole hour sitting in front of Jason’s door, barely restraining himself from bursting through and holding Jason so, so tight. The echo of that feeling was still reverberating through his bones. 

It made him cringe with guilt. He shouldn’t have been privy to this. 

The only thing that made it better was knowing that Jason saw his own nightmares, too. Dick never wanted to share those with anyone, let alone his brother. If he could choose between living through all of Jason’s nightmares with him and letting Jason see his own, he would choose the former in a heartbeat. 

Thanks to the link, he knew Jason felt the same. 

What a fucked up little family they were. 

His own attempt at sleep went… okay, actually. He woke up occasionally from a nightmare, as usual, but there was something soothing in knowing that he didn’t have to get up. It was as if the ship itself was reaching out to Dick, telling him he was okay, warm, safe. 

Or maybe it was just a memory. Either way, Dick fell asleep again, and this time, there were no nightmares. 

“Are you… cooking?” 

“Yes.” Jason threw Dick a glance that was almost… amused? “We still need to eat, you know.” 

“I kind of expected this ship to be stocked with junk food.” 

“I mean, if you want instant ramen, you have the choice of at least forty different flavors, only thirty-two of which I can identify. I’m pretty sure Kyle designed half the covers, actually. They have his particular mix of sleazy and actually hungry for the noodles.” 

‘Kyle,’ huh? Dick opened a cupboard and peered inside. _...okay, yes._ “Yes, those are definitely his. I feel vaguely dirty.” 

“Yeah, the air pressure showers aren’t really doing it for me either.” 

Dick very deliberately did not want to consider Jason in the shower, air-pressure or otherwise. “Did you sleep well?” he asked instead. No reason to give away that he knew the answer.

Jason looked at him strangely. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He paused, then added: “Better than usual.” 

“Oh.” And there went Dick’s plan. 

“How about you?” 

Dick considered the question. Honestly… “Not that bad, either.” 

“Cool.” 

“Want a hand?” 

Jason stared at him. In his mind, a silent highlight reel of ‘Dick’s biggest kitchen disasters’ played. 

_Hey, that’s unfair!_ Dick protested, and out loud: “I was much younger then!” 

“Keep telling yourself that.” Jason turned back to the frying pan, and Dick, summarily dismissed, sat down at the table. Not without complaining some more, mind. 

“Seriously, I haven’t set anything on fire in years.” He contemplated the memories Jason had shown him. “That was when I was like, nineteen, twenty. How the fuck do you even remember all of that?” 

“It was fascinating to watch how any human being could destroy so much in so little time.” 

“Awww. Paying attention to me, little wing?” Dick teased. He hadn’t used that nickname in, well, almost a decade. Time to bring it out of retirement, maybe—

_Well, duh. I had the biggest crush on you._

—Dick choked out on air. 

“Uh. Jason?” _I heard that._

“I know.” Jason began plating their food. As Dick watched, he could see his neck redden, but his face was perfectly composed when he turned around. “What of it? It’s been years.” 

True. Dick forced himself to chuckle. “You were so young—what, twelve, thirteen?” 

“Yeah, well. It was more hero worship than anything else. First Robin, and all that.” Jason slid the dish in front of Dick, taking his own with him as he sat down. God, it smelled delicious. 

For a few minutes, there was silence both in the room and in their heads as they ate.

“I never noticed.” Dick chewed as meditatively as one could chew a piece of bacon. “Guess I wasn’t in a space to notice, back then.” (Unlike now, when he was in space, hehe.)

He had no idea if Jason knew about the tension between Bruce and him after Dick had moved out. Dick thought they’d kept it civil around him, but… one never knew with kids. 

Jason hummed, his thoughts giving nothing away. They ate in companionable silence. 

“…guess it was mostly the costume. That neckline, man.” 

Dick choked on his food. It was a bad day for breathing all around. 

It had been a joke. Right? Right. 

…right? 

There was no way Jason, little baby Robin Jason had been into Dick back then. Dick would’ve noticed. The kid had been trying to impress him back then, that was all. Showing his worth. No way there was more. Jason was probably just projecting or something. 

Or not, because that would mean that Jason had a crush on him _now_ , which was hilarious enough that Dick actually snorted out loud. Not just because the idea of Jason liking him was ludicrous—he clearly didn’t—but because it seemed too soft a notion for the person that small Robin had become. 

Now that he thought about it, Dick didn’t really know much about Jason’s love life. He’d always assumed there wasn’t much to know—Jason had associates, not friends. Dick couldn’t really imagine him _dating_. 

Not that he was bad-looking or anything. Kinda the opposite, actually. If there wasn’t all that history between them, Jason would be just Dick’s type. Tall, cocky, able to handle himself in a fight— 

Oh God. Oh God, he needed to stop thinking _right now_ because Jason could hear his thoughts, and if he caught Dick going over the memory of his seeing his back muscles move under his shirt as the stretched— 

Nope. Not happening. Dick was lonely, he could admit that to himself, but he wasn’t _that_ lonely. 

Sometime on day two of this little journey, it occurred to Dick that this would make a fascinating study for psychologists. Like, all these studies about the brain turned events into memory, and here Dick was, watching the progress in real-time. 

Or maybe Jason was just that broody. Either way, he was constantly turning over memories in his head, re-examining them from every angle. Dick had no idea if there was any intent behind that. Jason did it when he was in the shower, when he was cooking, when he was just chilling. 

A lot of them revolved around their last mission. Dick listened to way too many internal discussions about the value of staying in Gotham over finding the Outlaws first. He saw Jason critique his route, the way he took down every single opponent; even the little shouting match between the two of them featured once or twice. 

There was also the recurring scene of a woman being dragged away by a police officer, everyone ignoring her screams, the officer’s hand a stark white against the dark skin of her throat—and Jason’s terror at watching her choke. It had the starkness and repetitiveness of a recent memory, something your brain was still trying to process.

That one stuck with Dick for a long time. Not for the obvious reasons. It was the way Jason had taken the man down, first, and then—thought it over. No angry impulse, just calculation. _Third time. Been warned before, including by the old man. Never taken, he’s not afraid. He’s escalating if he’s doing this in broad daylight. His wife hasn’t been seen in four days._

And the bone-deep certainty that he was doing the right thing as he shot a man to death. 

“So Kori swept in like she was imitating Supes.” Jason illustrated with a gesture. “Or an angry butterfly, I guess.” 

His posture was relaxed. Like, _actually_ relaxed, not the usual ‘I pretend to be totally at ease and unworried but actually my hand is inches away from a weapon.’ Like this, Dick could identify four spots where a single hit would take him out, and Jason was leaving them all open for him. 

Dick didn’t let his own guard down. Jason had fooled him before and would again. However, this was nice. Just listening to him talk animatedly, his penchant for drama turning even simple stories (well, simple in the context of their lives) into comedies. 

“…which somehow left me as the last human standing, having to haul their asses back to our ship. You ever try to pilot through a wormhole while your high as fuck friends try to make kids in the back? Cause it’s not a lot of fun, I tell you.” 

Dick frowned. “Wait, you actually have a spaceship?” 

Jason stared. “Yes? How else do you think we take these trips to space?” 

Uh. Honestly, Dick had forgotten about those. “…and you didn’t mention it before… why?” 

“You didn’t ask.” Jason shrugged. “And seemed happy enough to organize one. Besides. They would’ve wanted to come along.” 

Dick flinched. If any of them had Facebook, their relationship status would be ‘It’s complicated’ for sure. He missed them, though. “That might’ve been nice.” 

Some of his wistfulness must’ve shone through. Jason’s voice was unexpectedly soft in reply. “Yeah. Maybe next time.” 

There wouldn’t be a ‘next time,’ Dick knew. “Yeah.” 

It was just one of these things that happened occasionally. No big deal, Dick knew, even as his brain was screaming in terror. Just a moment where something—a movement, a sound, a thought—set off his alarms and send his body into high alert. It was going to be over any minute now. He just needed to breathe. 

Jason ran into the room. “What’s wrong—” He skidded to a stop. 

“I’m okay,” Dick said. Out loud, because it wouldn’t have worked otherwise. 

Jason paid him no mind. He was moving—grabbing a blanket, Dick realized when it was wrapped around him. He clung to it instinctively. Then gentle hands guided him toward the couch. 

He was shaking. 

_Do the thing. What do you feel?_

_I—I—_ Dick didn’t want to listen to his feelings right now. They were still screaming at him. 

_With your hands_. 

The rough surface of the couch, the slightly scratchy wool of the blanket. 

_How are you positioned?_

Sitting. On a couch, in a common room, on a spaceship. 

_What do you smell?_

The all-pervasive smell of air conditioner, something musty from the blanket, a deodorant that wasn’t his own. 

Dick’s breath was calming down. 

_What do you hear?_

The hum of the engines, Jason’s breathing, his own, Jason’s emotions in his head. For once, they weren’t loud; more calm, soothing. Warm. 

There was a tendril of anger in there, though. Dick followed it, curious—what on Earth could Jason be angry about now? 

_I’m not angry at you, dickwad, so don’t worry._ Jason’s voice was gruff but oddly soothing. Dick took him at his word. Jason never hesitated to tell him he was angry, after all. 

_Okay. Sorry. I’m good now._ Dick tried not to follow that up with _Can we forget about it, please?_ and Jason granted him the dignity of pretending he never heard. 

“You wanna go hit something later?” _And by something, I mean me._

“Why would I wanna hit you?” 

There was a moment of silence. 

“…there’s not much equipment here, but I found a room with a training area.”

It was cliche, but Dick _did_ immediately perk up at the idea of some proper exercise. Sitting around on his ass all day wasn’t his thing. There were only so many pull-ups and handstands a guy could do. “Let’s go.” 

(It was only later, when he’d recovered from his stupid lapse, that Dick realized: Jason wasn’t angry _at_ Dick, he was angry _for_ him. Huh.) 

It was a funny thing. 

Jason and Dick hadn’t sparred in years. Well, not unless you counted all the times they’d found themselves on different sides of an argument and had it out physically. This was different—long rounds of pretty evenly matched fighters—and to his surprise, Dick enjoyed it immensely.

Tim and Damian were formidable sparring partners, but they were also kids who both had been trained in two traditions only. Jason, however, like Dick, had been trained by many people, influenced by even more, and was not afraid to combine them in the most sacrilegious of ways. 

It was a little like sparring with Bruce, and wasn’t that a thought Dick immediately tried to hide. 

Round one went on for some time, evenly matched until Jason matched a successful feint and captured Dick’s hands. Dick tried to swipe his legs out from under him. Jason held firm, though, his weight working for him, and he pushed Dick down relentlessly, one hand on his throat, the other gripping his wrists. 

Dick tried to struggle. No give. After a second of unrelenting pressure against his neck—not enough to actually choke him, enough that an actual enemy could’ve killed him—he wound his wrist free, tapped the ground. _Give._

Jason’s hand was on his windpipe for longer than was comfortable. Dick tensed up, ready to throw him off, to go for the head, below the waist, whatever it took—Jason let go. His face was unreadable as he got up, and his thoughts silent. 

Dick got a distinct feeling that he'd just failed a test. Too bad. Jason could go fuck himself if that was his idea of how to treat his—his—

“Round two?” he asked, lightly jumping back to his feet.

“If you think you’re ready.”

Dick didn’t bother to reply. He just attacked. 

Bout two was something else entirely. The first time, both of them had kept their minds silent, acting on pure instinct, feeling each other out, maybe. This time, Dick was attempting to strategize… and he could Jason do the same. 

It was pretty difficult to surprise the dude who could hear your thoughts. As the fight dragged on, they were becoming more and more in sync—a choreography rather than a punchout. 

By the time he somersaulted over an attempted throw, Dick was laughing, and to his surprise, Jason was too. 

This was _fun._

In the end, Dick’s flexibility decided the match for him. He pushed, and he pushed, and at some point, Jason couldn’t bend anymore, falling on his ass rather ungracefully. In a split second, Dick was on him, pinning his arms to the ground with his knees and staying out of reach of Jason’s legs. 

“Give?” 

Dick grinned down at Jason below him, and ooh, it had been a while. Even when he took Jason down in their previous fights, the man never stayed down, little cockroach that he was. Dick thought he was due some crowing in victory. 

Jason glared back. Dick could tell it wasn’t serious, though. The other man’s eyes were bright; more grey than blue, now that Dick bothered to look. Jason always had such an intensity about him, even when he was on the verge of laughter, and he was looking at Dick like—like Dick—

Jason looked away, tapped the ground. _Okay, you’ve had your payback. Mind moving now? Your ass is heavy._

It had been three days, nothing more, but as they approached the planet Ki’arus, the atmosphere felt lighter than when they had started out, determined not to speak to each other out loud or telepathically. Now, Jason greeted Dick with the image of coffee in the morning. 

_I’m not Tim. That’s not going to get me up._

_Dammit. And here I thought I was stuck with the Replacement the entire time._

There was a faint undercurrent of confusion that Dick answered by a mental highlight reel of Tim Drake, Vigilante, Student, and Businessman Extraordinaire, before his first coffee of the day. 

Jason laughed. _He did **not**_ **__**_tell Alfred that tea is just leaf-flavored water._

_He so did. Once the caffeine finally kicked in, he looked terrified._

_And with good reason._

For a moment, Dick tasted Earl Grey, full and a little tangy with lemon—Jason’s memory of afternoons spent with Alfred, homework in front of and a cup of tea beside him. It had a wistful quality, one that Dick couldn’t help echo. And he didn’t even like tea all that much. 

_Heathens, the lot of you._

_And yet, you made me coffee._

_If you don’t hurry up, I’ll drink it myself._

_Nooo._

“Lantern archives don’t have much on these guys.” Jason looked unspeakably like a grumpy cat, surrounded by printouts of files. “We know that they fight with noise—duh. That’s what the earplugs are for.” 

Courtesy of Bruce, they didn’t have to worry about the noise anymore. Not that his contraptions could really be called ‘earplugs,’ but Dick supposed it was as good as any other name for them. 

“I thought those files were locked. No access for non-Lanterns.” 

“They were locked, yes.” 

Dick sighed. “So no secret weaknesses revealed or notes on negotiation strategies?” he asked, half-seriously. 

“Nope.”

“I guess we could just… _wing_ it.” 

“You did not just say that.” Jason’s voice was flat. His expression said _disgusting_. 

However, it was too late. Dick could hear the giggles he was trying to shove down. He grinned. “You can’t tell me you’ve never yelled ‘Red Hood is in the hood.’” 

“Dick. I can one-hundred percent tell you that I never have done that.” Jason paused. Dick was already laughing when he added, “There might or might not have been a few Red Riding Hood jokes.” 

“Just how many grandmas do you meet that that happens more than once?”

“More than you’d think. A greater number of frightened little girls, though, and a lot of wolves.” 

“Yeah.” Dick knew all about wolves. 

They thought about that. Despite the terrors that came at night (and the occasional day), Dick was unspeakably glad that he was not doomed to helplessly watch predators hunt their prey.

“These days, I’m the hunter.” Jason grinned, thinking about similar lines. “Let’s suit up.” 

They touched down at the port without being shot at. So that was something, at least. 

The local Ki’ari greeted them with all the signs of pleasure. 

“Honored guests,” one of them called out as soon as Dick left the spaceship, Jason walking slightly behind him and to his right. “Welcome to Ki’arus. My name is Kor, and I am the head of Kinde City. And you are?” 

“This is Red Hood, and I am Nightwing. We are from Earth.” 

The faces around them remained perfectly blank. Either no one here knew what happened on Earth, or they were accomplished diplomats. 

“Welcome! What brings you to our humble planet?” 

“As you might be aware, we had a visit from your people recently…” 

“A group of outsiders,” Kor cut in smoothly. So they did know what happened on Earth, after all. “They are not part of the planetary federation because of their actions. They rarely visit our solar system.” 

_And if they come home with the spoils of war, do you kick them the fuck out or do you buy from them?_ Jason thought. Dick, too, was starting to suspect that Kibo had been more than a bit naive about his own government. 

All the more reason not to draw this out. He explained: “The thing is… one of them—their name was Kibo, and they said they were a representative from your government—they linked us… telepathically.” 

The group gasped. 

“It was a tricky situation and it seemed like the reasonable course of action,” Dick explained, lest they thought badly of Kibo, “But they passed on before the mission was over. So now we are wondering how we can dissolve the bond.” 

Kor made an expression Dick thought might be a frown, or in any case, a sign of displeasure. “But if our friend Kibo, Ki’aran’har may guide his soul, detected that you could form a bond and it stayed after the initial hour… that means you were chosen.” 

Oh God, no. 

_Please don’t let them say they need rescue from a volcano god,_ Jason thought. 

“In what way?” Dick asked delicately. 

“Have either of you been granted the honor of being revealed the greatness and truth of Ki’aran’har, Lady of Souls?” 

“I’m afraid not.” 

_At least she doesn’t sound like a volcano lady._

Kor’s face lit up, as did the one of the Ki’ari surrounding them. 

_Shhhh,_ Dick thought back, _I think we’re about to be converted._

 _Fucking missionaries are everywhere, huh._

“Kibo was her ardent follower, an acolyte that held great promises. Ki’aran’har is the Seeing One, the one that sees the truth on people’s hearts and connects their minds accordingly.” Kor paused for full effect. “When she bestows a bond on two people, it means that they are Destined Ones.”

 _Okay, that’s bullshit_. 

And for once, Dick couldn’t agree more with Jason. He liked the notion of soulmates, sure—as an abstract concept, not a random alien goddess telepathically linking him to Jason. 

“We are honored,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “However…” 

“You are human,” Kor said, not letting him finish. “You would never have been able to experience this if not for our help.”

“That’s precisely why,” Jason told them. His arm was around Dick’s waist—when had that happened? “I am eternally glad that you have opened our eyes. I would not be standing here with my soulmate if it wasn’t for you.” 

Dick caught on immediately, turned to Jason with a ready smile on his lips, ready to confirm their love, only for it to die when he saw the way Jason was looking at him. His eyes— 

Dick had never been looked at like that in his life. And he had no idea what it meant. 

“However,“ Jason continued, turning back to the group, “our minds are human. Your brains are much more powerful than hours; the stress, the strain of the bond—we were simply not made for that. Our doctors tell us that if we keep up the bond, we will not have long to live. And since we have been given such a gift… I find myself wanting to live more than ever.” 

Jason’s expression was serious, grave. It took a moment to click—he was mimicking Bruce addressing the League. Dick didn’t know what to do with that comparison. 

“I suppose Kibo did not consider that,” Kor granted. They seemed to be deep in thought. Neither of two humans interrupted them. 

_What do we do if they say no?_ Dick asked idly. He had faith in them being able to punch their way out of here. Wouldn’t help with the bond, though. 

_Ask them to teach us how to handle it. They’re bound to let slip some secrets in that case._

_That’ll do it._

It was a good—necessary—reminder that Jason was dangerous. Brute force, even strategically applied, was one thing. Dick had learned how to deal with that in his first years with Bruce. Manipulation, though… that was a tool so sharp, you didn’t feel it cutting your flesh until it was too late. 

_Thank you. I learned from watching the best._

_B?_

_You._ Dick caught the impression of a grin from Jason. _No one does sugar-and-spice like good old Nightwing._

_Aww, thank you_. Dick accepted the compliment as if it were his due, which it was. _It’s mostly not a lie, though. I only turn it up when I have to._

_Sometimes I think you forget to turn it off._

Both of their faces were perfectly attentive to their hosts. Nothing gave away the mental conversation. 

“Our Lady’s tree is near this port,” Kor finally said. “It holds all the bonds. You will be able to remove yours there… if you’re sure.” 

“We are.” 

“Then follow me.”

The longer they walked, the thicker the tension grew.

 _Jason_ , Dick thought very, very quietly. 

_Are you whispering in our own heads?_

_Something’s wrong._

_Well, duh. The one to your right has been fiddling their weapon for three minutes now. I do not like that grin. I’d like to punch it._

_Let’s get closer to the ceremonial tree first_. 

_Why do you think I’m not punching anyone yet, idiot?_

Kor looked at them. They both smiled. 

“Do you enjoy the view?” the leader asked. 

Dick did, actually. They were just outside the small port city, surrounded by lands so flat, you could see for miles and miles and miles. He would call it barren lands, barely suitable for fields, except there was one tree just about a mile ahead of them. 

_Perfect place for an ambush,_ Dick thought. 

_Out of range for snipers, though._

_They don’t think they need those._

As if on cue, noise rang out. Dick gritted his teeth, could feel Jason doing the same—it was bad, it _hurt_ , but they were still standing. Bruce’s invention held out. 

For a long moment, no one moved. 

Then the alien next to him swung a club at Dick. Which was surprisingly old-fashioned (was this what they resorted to when their tech failed?), if effective—Dick winced as it made impact with his arm, the block effective but painful. Dick’s answer came easy, one-two-three, legs-stomach-neck, and his opponent was down. 

_Take this, fucker_ , Jason thought as he took down his own attacker. 

Dick looked up, eyes narrowing. Kor was not attacking them—Dick guessed they wouldn’t get their hands dirty like that—but their posture was unmistakable. They had no intention of stopping this. These warriors were attacking at their command. 

_I guess Kibo was wrong about their leader’s intentions._

_You **guess?**_

The whole group had turned against them, and there were more aliens advancing from… somewhere. Jason made a show of drawing his guns with the most annoyed face possible. “Really? We have to do this?” 

Dick sighed. “Looks like it.” 

Within a minute, they were fighting back-to-back, holding off the tide that was threatening to sweep them away. Dick had never been more grateful for Jason’s solid strength and his ability to pick off targets long-range than now. Maybe when this was over, they could go on patrol together more often. 

Jason’s mind was somewhere else. _Why lure us in first? Could’ve shot us out of the sky when we arrived._

 _Not helpful, Jay._ Dick took another one out with a strategically placed kick. _Assess our positions, I suppose? Gauge our worth as hostages._

 _Oh. So when they figured out that we were responsible for their failed colonization attempt..._ Jason aimed over Dick’s shoulder. An attacker dropped, his weapon inches from Dick’s head. 

_Riiiight. They didn’t know our capabilities—their invading force isn’t back yet._ Dick returned the favor by unceremoniously punching out the next alien that tried to take Jason’s guns from him and came too close to succeeding. _All they know is that something went wrong._

_God, I hate politics._

_We can’t just stay here and fight whoever comes close._ Even in his head, Dick sounded exasperated. Sometimes his life felt like a never-ending succession of bad action movie melees. 

_Go to the tree,_ Jason thought, _figure something out. I’ll distract them_. 

_Be careful_ , Dick replied and Jason snorted. _See you on the ship?_

 _One hour._ “Hey, fuckwads!” 

Heads swiveled. 

Jason held up something that looked terrifyingly like a grenade. Where had he even been hiding that? His outfit wasn’t _that_ much looser than Dick’s. “Guess what I got here? Or, actually, the better question will be: Just where can I do the most damage with this?” 

And off he sprinted. 

“After him!” Kor yelled. Dick saw them turn—saw them ready themselves to deal with Dick using the warriors that remained with their leader—but, well, he was busy running in the opposite direction. 

_That was dramatic_ , he sent. 

_You mean ‘effective.’_

_Sure, Jay. Sure._

_Hey, you’re not being chased by thirty peeps like I am, so maybe shut up about it._ To Dick’s surprise, there was a faint tendril of warmth that came with the thought. 

_What?_

_What?_

_What has you so pleased?_

_Just decapitated two of them with one stroke._ Jason crowed. As Dick deflated, he followed it up, more quietly, with: _and you called me ‘Jay’ again._

Dick shouldn’t feel that warm in the middle of running toward a mystical tree on an alien planet while under attack. Or, well, body temperature rising during strenuous exercise was a thing. That wasn’t what was happening, though.

Sometimes, he really wished his life was just a little less like a sci-fi soap opera. 

So, as expected, the tree was really fucking big, not to mention… glittery? 

Dick squinted. There was a multitude of gems set into the bark, 

_Holds the soulbonds, huh?_ He sent the image to Jason. 

_Guess we can literally remove ours._

Great. Okay. Now Dick only needed to figure out which one was theirs. He could just go tearing out all of them, could he? That would be cruel. 

In his head, Jason snorted. _Start somewhere high up._

_Cause our love is elevated?_

_Cause you’re always found in high places._

_You think it’s that symbolic? Wait, no, you’re right. They’re soulbonds turned corporal. Of course it’s that symbolic._ Dick began climbing. 

The view from the top was pretty fucking fantastic—he could even see the group of warriors chasing Jason from here, even if he couldn’t make out the man himself—but Dick didn’t allow himself to be distracted for longer than a second or so. 

He settled down on the largest branch, close to the trunk, and examined the stones. One of them immediately drew his eye. He couldn’t have told you why—it was just another stone; bright blue in color, sure, but so were others. Yet, Dick _knew_. 

He held out a hand. The stone emitted warmth; a gentle, comforting feeling with an undercurrent of something more, something darker, and Dick was certain this was it. Their bond stone. 

He never would have imagined it to be so beautiful.

It was tempting to just… leave it there. Leave the planet, return to Earth with the bond still intact. _You’ll never be lonely again_ , a voice whispered in his mind. _No more fighting. Perfect understanding and everything you ever wanted—_

Dick shook his head. He knew better than to listen to that kind of voice. 

_Dick, wait—_ he heard Jason think, and then he was ripping out the gemstone. 

It grew cold in his hand, and in his head, there was only silence. 

For some reason, Dick felt like crying. It was entirely irrational; they had come here for this exact purpose, he had just ensured that their mission was a success, and yet the loss was tangible and biting and real. 

The sound of metal hitting wood brought him back to reality. 

When Dick looked down, he saw five Ki’ari warriors under the tree and another bunch making their way up the branches like he had, just slower, more awkwardly. Ah. He’d been wondering when they would catch up with him. 

When they reached him, he dispatched the first one with ease, then the second, and then the city went up in flames. 

_Should’ve figured that would be your particular kind of distraction_ , Dick thought. 

There was no reply. Right. Time to get used to that again. 

Okay. Okay, his opponents were knocked out, Dick had the high ground—just how he liked it. Jason was burning down a building, presumably, or maybe even the whole damn city, who knew these days. That was pretty normal. Dick didn’t see anyone approaching the tree. Should be safe to make his getaway then, get to the ship, maybe pick up Jason on the way—

That was when the tree decided to fight back. There was no other word for it—the thick branch that had held him up _moved_ , shaking here and there like a wild horse. When Dick tried to grab onto the trunk, it was hot, the gemstones glowing as if they were soaking up the heat from the flames. It was burning through Dick’s gloves, and he had to—he couldn’t—

Dick fell, and with it came the horrifyingly familiar feeling of his bone snapping. 

“ _Fuck_.” The swear came out as one long, pained exhale; the only sign of weakness Dick allowed himself before channeling his energy into examining the situation. 

He tried moving the leg. Nope, not a good idea. Something was very, very wrong with his knee. The pain was severe enough that it couldn’t just have been his bone. Dick didn’t hold out much hope for his ligaments. 

So no bending the knee or putting any weight on that side. Okay. He could work with that. 

Dick looked around. The advantage of being surrounded by debris was that there should be something he could use—ah. There. He dragged himself over to the metal pole. A makeshift crutch was better than none. 

Getting up was a painful and slow process. When it was done, Dick knew that he could not allow himself to sit down again before he was safely on his way home. He gripped the pole tighter. If he was attacked again, he could use it as a weapon. His escrima sticks were a lost cause. 

Whatever distraction Jason had concocted seemed to be holding up, however. Dick made it back to the hangar without confrontation. 

There was a burn mark on the side of the ship. Looked like it hadn’t escaped unscathed from the explosion, after all. Dick considered his options, but his feet were already moving toward it. He was in no shape to pilot a ship. At least theirs had auto-pilot and was locked to his voice. 

Getting up the ramp was one of the top twenty painful things in the world. Whoever invented slopes could fuck themselves. _It’s okay,_ he thought to himself. _It’s okay. Thirty steps and you’ll be safe. Just thirty steps. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight…_

It was only when he’d made it into the loading bay of the spaceship that Dick realized he’d expected to see Jason here. 

He wasn’t. Dick was alone, and he knew he didn’t have much time. His body was crashing. If he didn’t set the course soon, he might never leave this planet. 

There were plenty of other ships, he told himself, all of them in better chance. Jason was probably already on his way home. He wouldn’t have waited for Dick. Hell, he shouldn’t have. He’d be better off without him.

“Computer,” he said, and controls around him activated. “Set autopilot for start and travel. Bring us home.” 

The mechanic voice answered: “Cannot find place ‘home.’ Please define.” 

Jesus, could the symbolism please tone down a bit? Suddenly, Dick felt like crying. 

“Earth.” 

“Machines are warming up. Compiling damage report. Take-off will be initiated in 23 Earth minutes.”

Dick knew he should put his leg up and set the bone. He was setting himself up for a world of pain if he didn’t. He should—Dick passed out. 

There were shapes around him, telling him how he failed, how he fell, how he let them down— 

“Shhh,” a voice murmured. “You’re okay. You’re good.” 

Dick was distinctly not ‘good.’ It hurt, and it was his fault. He just wanted to forget. 

“Hey, stay awake for a moment?” 

Dick knew he should. He really did. This wasn’t good. He shouldn’t be trusting anyone like that. Whoever it was. He knew that voice, even if he couldn’t remember it being quite like that. He should open his eyes and see—but he was so, so tired. 

“No, Dick—” 

Dick tried to stay awake, he did, the voice sounded so concerned, but he couldn’t. 

The next time Dick opened his eyes, his mind was much clearer. 

His first thought: _Ouch motherfucking ooouch._

“Don’t move.” Oh. Jason. Dick decided to focus on that rather than the pain. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, kinda stupidly, as he opened his eyes.

“Getting a ride home, how about you?” Jason’s tone was light. “No, seriously, don’t move. Your knee is kinda fucked. “ 

“I can see that,” Dick told him. His left leg was in a cast from hip to ankle. It looked to be more plastic than plaster. When Dick reached out a hand to touch it, it felt smooth and cool under his fingers. 

“There isn’t anything else I can do,” Jason said. He almost sounded apologetic. “You shattered the head of your tibia and detached your ACL. That kind of reconstructive surgery is way above my pay grade or skill level.” 

“You didn’t suddenly become a trauma surgeon without my knowledge?” Dick joked, trying to ignore thoughts of what that meant for his leg. Wasn’t anything he could do about that right now, anyways. 

“More of a field medic.” Jason seemed willing to humor him. “I can dig out your average bullet, but that’s about it. How would you rate the pain?” 

“I’ve had worse.” 

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s not an actual measurement scale, buddy. Let me rephrase the questions: Are the painkillers working in any noticeable way?” 

“Nope.” 

“Figures. There are some stronger ones, but they contain opiates. You okay with that?” 

Dick appreciated Jason checking in about that, but: “Yes. Please.” 

Jason nodded and switched out the bags on his IV. 

Dick sighed as the medication began to do its work. He’d never get used to how you could _feel_ the medication making its way through your veins and arteries. It felt creepy, like being taken over and out of your body. It did, however, also quickly dampen the pain, and right now, Dick could live with anything that did that. 

Within minutes, he was asleep again. 

Later, Dick would learn that over thirty hours had passed before he was awake and coherent for more than five minutes. Which should’ve meant they were half-way to Earth, except: 

“The hyperdrive’s broken,” Jason said. “It’ll take weeks to get home.” 

His face was set, cold; Dick wondered if he’d imagined the caring Jason by his bedside in a fever dream.

“Guess blowing up the city the ship was parked in wasn’t such a great idea,” he joked weakly. 

Jason ignored him. “We’re doing okay with rations. There are energy bars and water on your bedside table. Do you need to use the bathroom?” 

“No.” Dick didn’t want to consider why not.

“I’ll be back in three hours to change the IV. Don’t take any other painkillers until then.” 

And with that, he was gone. 

Definitely a fever dream, then. 

If the journey to the planet of Ki’arus had sucked at first, this was worse. 

No matter how light the cast, walking was… difficult. They didn’t have a wheelchair, so Jason basically hung Dick over his shoulders. Even with Dick’s weight off his left side with their combined efforts, every movement jostled the injury, and it hurt like a motherfucker. 

(He really, really tried to ignore the fact that like, he wouldn’t be able to get away. It didn’t matter that his rational brain knew he could fight just about anyone off sitting down. Hell, Babs did that every day. In his worst moments, he felt trapped like a robin in a cage.) 

Now, Dick was quite aware that he was a _terrible_ patient. He was snappy and irritable, and in his better moments, he knew that. However, Jason matched him with his terrible-to-non-existent bedside manner. He seemed content to keep Dick fed, washed and medicated, only appearing to haul him wherever he needed to be before disappearing again. 

The ship wasn’t even that big. There was no way that Jason _happened_ to be somewhere else than Dick every single minute of every single day.

Dick had no idea what had crawled up Jason’s ass and died. None. He’d tried to talk about it, but Jason had just glared at him or left the room, a move unfair enough to turn Dick sour. 

The only conclusion he could come to was that the Jay he thought he’d come to know over the last few days—the one who was dangerous and sweet and complicated and awkward as fuck—hadn’t been real. Or worse, that he’d been real, but the only reason Jason had shared that with Dick was because he had no choice. It’d been the soulbond, nothing more. Now that he wasn’t forced to share his thoughts, his anger, his laughter with Dick anymore, Jason had no interest in doing so. 

Fine. It hurt, but Dick could respect that. He _could_. 

(His heart had no business aching like that; his mind no cause feeling so empty.) 

Apart from the physical and mental pain, it was just boring as fuck. There were only so many tv shows Dick could watch in a day without going crazy. Jason was fine, he thought bitterly, with his books and shit. Probably welcomed the break. Meanwhile, Dick wanted to punch something and couldn’t. 

His brain felt slow. Dick had lowered the dosage of painkillers as soon as he realized they were affecting his memory, but dispersing of them completely would leave him incapacitated, too, not to mention increase the risk of infection. Still, he felt sluggish, the days taking on an unreal quality of tedium. 

Yeah. This was definitely the worst trip ever. 

The nights were a whole different ball game. Even without Jason’s to share, Dick’s own nightmares under the influence of pain medication, fever, and just, well, pain were nothing to scoff at. He kept waking up, too, every time he shifted, every time he tried to sprawl out on his belly or his side as was his wont. 

Sometimes, there was a warm presence next to him, keeping him down so he couldn’t hurt himself more, soothing him back to sleep. Which was nice. Dick was proud of his brain for coming up with that one. Still, it hurt like a motherfucker, and the lack of sleep coupled with his boredom was getting to him. 

Even Jason seemed to notice. “You look like shit.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“No, I—” Jason hesitated, and for a moment—for a glorious, hopeful moment—Dick thought that he would continue. That they would have a conversation, for once. But Jason shook his head and didn’t bring it up again. 

Dick tried not to hold it against him. Jason looked like shit, too. Dick probably deserved this. 

When he limped back to the room the next night, there were several pillows of varying sizes lying on his bed. Dick considered them. They were not on the front or back of the bed, but more the height where his knees lay. Knowing Jason as Dick was starting to, that was probably not a coincidence. 

Oh. Yeah, that could work. 

When he got into bed, he put one of the pillows between his legs, then slowly, carefully turned to his side so his cast was settled on top of the pillow. He stuffed another one behind his knees to prevent slippage. 

Tucking a hand under his face, Dick smiled. This was much better already. Sleep came easier that night. 

He woke up in someone’s arms, and for a moment Dick couldn’t think anything but _get away get away get away from me_ , because it was _her_ and he _didn’t want it, hadn’t wanted it, no, please—_

The person jumped away from him as if they’d been burned. 

“Dick, it’s me,” they said, “Jason. It’s okay. She’s not here to hurt you.” 

Oh. That was okay, then. Dick wasn’t sure when his brain had out Jason on the list of people to feel safe around, but it sure had because he was moving closer of his own volition, tugging on Jason’s shirt. 

“Uh, okay, buddy,” the other man whispered, letting Dick pull him closer again. He wasn’t, however, touching Dick; his hands remained by his side, or on his back—somewhere away from Dick. 

Dick whined. His sleepy, drugged mind followed a very simple logic: he’d dreamt about falling, and then he’d remembered bad touches. Jason’s touches were good. Therefore Jason should touch him. If he was awake, he would be ashamed at rubbing himself into Jason like a cat. 

It worked, though. There was a big hand in his hair, gently stroking it. The other wound around his waist, carefully pulling down his shirt before it rested on his back. Jason’s hand was warm even through the fabric. 

“Jay,” Dick whispered. 

“Hmm?” 

Dick shook his head, already nodding off. He’d just wanted to say the name. 

The next morning, the bed was empty and cold.

Dick was ready to call himself dramatic—like his life felt empty and cold with Jason angry, and _what the fuck_ was that about, no, it didn’t work like that—until he realized: Oh, no, it was actually cold. He’d thrown off the blanket. 

Tempting as it was to pull it back up and cuddle in, maybe wallow a bit, he knew staying in bed for a week would counterproductive for both his mood and his body. 

Getting up was its own production, one that Dick was glad no one could observe. He actually picked up his cast and lifted it with his hands instead of using the muscles in his leg. It just hurt less that way. 

When he was finally somewhat horizontal, he stretched, first up, then bending back as far as he could. Aaaah, yes. That felt good. He’d need to get a proper routine in soon. He had enough injury experience to have a plan for this, even if this time was somewhat worse than usual for single-area injury. (When he was knocked out with several gunshot wounds and a concussion, he didn’t feel the need to stretch as much.) 

Once he was sitting like a normal person, he finally noticed the chair. 

It looked to be like one of the armchairs of their ‘living room,’ a sleek minimalist contraption that was more comfortable than it looked. And it had wheels. Like, little ones on the bottom, and two big ones at the side, clearly meant to be big enough that the person sitting in it could push them with their hands, thus compelling themselves forward. It was nothing like the sophisticated, made-for-the-every-day wheelchair that Barbara used, and yet… 

Dick swallowed. He could get around on his own with this in a way he couldn’t even if he had proper crutches. There was even, Dick found, an extension on one side that he could rest his cast on, thereby allowing him to keep his leg up and his hip aligned properly. 

Dick entered the bathroom alone for the first time in four days and felt like crying. 

The chair would double as an excellent arm and shoulder workout, he realized as he made his way slowly through the ship. Jason wasn’t in the kitchen, and he wasn’t in the pilot’s room. Dick was considering whether he should knock on the door to Jason’s bedroom—that would be awkward, right?—when he tried the common room, and yup, there his impossible travel companion was, reading.

“Jay.” 

Jason lifted his eyes from his tablet with such slowness that Dick knew he was holding back from whipping his head up and staring. There was something like satisfaction on Jason’s face before the mask of disinterest descended on his expression again. “Yes?” he asked belatedly. 

“This—this is great,” Dick gestured to the chair. “You didn’t have to.” 

Jason looked down at his tablet as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. “It’s nothing.” 

“No, Jay, it’s—” Dick tried to find the words, to let Jason know what it meant to him, Jason giving him his autonomy back like that. Something in Jason’s face killed the words before they could leave his throat, though. “Thank you,” he finished lamely. 

“Nothing to thank me for. Is that all? Cause I’m reading.” 

Dick wheeled out, annoyed at his own inadequacy and at Jason’s in about equal measure. 

Weirdly, the moment Dick lost it came when Jason approached him with a heavy tread. Jason walked like a cat even when he was angry. They all did. He was trying to announce his presence, probably in an attempt to avoid startling Dick. 

It was enough to get a man to stand up and yell: “At least be angry like a normal person!” 

Jason looked lost. “What?” 

“Oh, don’t ‘what’ me.” Dick lifted a hand and counted down items on his fingers. “The food, the pillows, the chair… you’re constantly hovering and pretending not to, don’t deny it.” 

He was tempted to add ‘and the cuddles,’ but he wasn’t actually sure that had been Jason. Dick knew too well that his mind tended to make up intimacy where there wasn’t any. Just look at his years with Bruce. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Flat denial, then. And Jason liked to say he wasn’t a Bat. 

“Can you at least tell me what made you so angry?” Dick asked. He could hear the desperation in his own voice. 

Jason considered him. He walked over to the common room table, setting down his reason for entering in the first place, a stew of some sort, slowly and carefully. 

“You were ready to leave. On your own.” 

“I had to.” Dick tilted his head. “Are you going to yell at me for leaving you behind? Because I figured you would take on of the other ships and be—” 

Jason didn’t yell. He slowly turned back to Dick and asked: “How do you think it would have gone if I returned without you?” 

Dick frowned. Right. Jason would’ve gotten to earth way before him, what with the drive being broken and all that. “I would’ve arrived later, that’s all.” With irreparable damage to his leg, sure, but that wasn’t Jason’s to worry about, was it? 

“For one, Bruce would’ve beaten me to a pulp.” Jason’s voice was matter-of-fact. 

Dick started. “No, he—”

“He would have. He’s done so before, and he’ll do it again.” Jason smiled. “This time, I might even have deserved it.” 

“ _Deserved_ it?” Dick echoed, aghast. 

“I left you.” Jason shook his head. “I trusted you to come after me, or to wait for me, and I clearly shouldn’t have. That’s on me. I know about your boner for sacrifice.” 

“I don’t have—” 

“You do.” And oh, Dick didn’t know what that look in Jason’s eyes meant, but he knew that he never wanted to see it again. “Dick. You could have died.” 

“But I didn’t.” It was all Dick could think to say. He was alive. That was what counted. 

“You _could_ have. I thought we were in this together, but clearly, you don’t even trust me enough to let me know you’re injured—” 

“I didn’t want to distract you!” 

“You’re lying. You’re lying, and you’re self-destructive and you play happiness so well you’ve started to believe your own lie.” Jason’s tone was sharp. “Don’t bullshit me.” 

Dick forced himself to take a deep breath.

He knew that he could do the same thing to Jason. The other man’s flaws were numerous. He could call out Jason’s mood swings; the way he switched between flippancy and standoffishness just to show how much he didn’t care; his brutality; his careless ways of handling lives that didn’t matter to him. The sheer presumption of holding Dick accountable to him. 

But Dick didn’t. Because none of these negated Jason’s point. 

At no time, when he made his way to the ship, did it occur to him to call for Jason. They had communicators. The aliens had communicators. He could’ve stolen one. Hell, he could have broadcast from the ship, sent a distress signal. 

For the first time, he considered what it must’ve been like for Jason, arriving at the ship, to, presumably, find the auto-pilot engaged and ready to leave, Dick passed out and injured. He imagined how Dick would have felt if their positions had been reversed. 

Still, Dick offered his truth, the one Bruce had instilled in him almost two decades ago: “It comes with the job.”

“No, Dick.” And this was worse than yelling. This was Jason, as tired as he was angry. Hurt. “You think it does. Everyone who loves you just wonders if you’ll come back alive next time.” He swallowed. “I can’t do that. I _can’t._ ” 

“I—I don’t know—” Dick swayed on the spot. With the lack of anger came exhaustion. He didn’t have answers for this. 

Jason must’ve realized because he had him by the shoulder before Dick could so much shift his weight back properly. “Okay, time for bed.” 

“I thought we were arguing?” Dick asked, letting himself be guided back into his chair without protest. 

“We were.” Jason started to push. “And now we’re going to bed.” 

“I feel like there’s a rule about that.” 

“Yeah, the rule is that kids shouldn’t be up past their bedtimes.” 

Dick gasped. “I’m older than you.” 

“In body, maybe.” 

“I resent that.” 

“Good.” 

Jason wheeled him straight into Dick’s room and up to his bed, only pausing to kick the door shut behind him. “Get in.” 

For a second, Dick considered arguing. Then he told himself that he was really fucking tired and also not a four-year-old, so he obeyed. 

He hadn’t bothered to change out of his pajamas this morning, so there was no need to change into them. He hoisted himself up and out of his chair unto the bed, having had enough practice that it went smoothly even with one hand stabilizing his cast. He could feel Jason’s eyes on him as he moved, but when he looked up, Jason was pulling his hoodie over his head, leaving him in just his sweats and a soft-looking t-shirt. 

And then, in full view of Dick, the lights still on and everything, Jason climbed in next to him. He got between Dick and the wall, pushing up one of his legs to keep Dick’s supportive pillow in place, and settled down with a sigh. 

Dick stared. 

“You can yell at me tomorrow, okay? I know you wanted to. Hell,” Jason ran a hand through his hair, “Lord knows you got plenty to yell about. But I’m not fighting with you when you’re this exhausted. We can continue in the morning. I’ll even yell back if that makes you feel better.” 

“Please don’t.” Dick shook his head even as his mind whirled. “But okay. Tomorrow.” 

Jason hesitated, looking for who-knows-what on Dick’s face, but then he said: “Computer. Light’s out, please.” 

Perfect darkness fell. Jason curled around him. Dick’s own body was stiff as a board, but he didn’t seem deterred by that, breath slow and steady. 

This felt familiar, and suddenly Dick remembered all these moments he’d written off as fever-dreams, all the warmth he’d felt during their bond that he’d ascribed to the ship. 

So Jason had seen that. He’d seen all of it, the parts of Dick that weren’t pretty, the parts that he tried to claw out of his soul and erase on his worst days. And he knew Dick’s temper, too; knew that he had wanted to yell at Jason, would have preferred a fight over quiet hurt. Knew that Dick wasn’t always patient, or good, or strong. 

People didn’t know him like that. Not many, at least. Bruce, Babs, Kori, Wally, Donna, Roy—they all had, at certain points of his life. Every single one of them had gained the power to destroy Dick, to lift him up, to become the center of his universe or to burn out. 

Dick should be worried that Jason was now among them, but he wasn’t. He’d always been a bit of a fatalist about these things. Jason _knew_ him now, and there was nothing Dick could do about it. 

Slowly, deliberately, he relaxed into Jason’s body. There was no fever or pain or nightmare leaving him vulnerable, this time. This was his _choice_. His head lolled back, his shoulders press into the mattress, and his right leg tilts open at the hip, finally sprawling in a way that meant he wasn’t ready to pounce at any moment anymore. 

Perversely, that’s what made Jason tense against him. Dick smiled, kept his eyes closed. 

There was a soft touch to his neck, and he didn’t move, just listened as Jason tilted closer, his warm hand sliding over the vulnerable front of Dick’s neck. There was no pressure, just gentle touch, rising and falling with Dick’s breathing. 

Dick sighed. His throat vibrated against Jason’s palm. 

This time, when Jason relaxed, his body carried honesty. His other hand moved to pull Dick into him, cupping his hip, holding him close, holding him safe. Dick, in turn, clung to him, one hand between Jason’s shoulder blades, protective and protected at the same time. 

There was nothing brotherly about this. Nothing platonic. No heat of the moment or grave injury to explain away this closeness. Not even an alien soulbond, anymore. 

And yet, Jason didn’t push Dick away, didn’t panic. He must have known, then. Smart kid. 

Dick exhaled. Jason’s hand had moved into his hair. The slow and soothing motions were enough to have him fall asleep in no time. 

The next morning, Jason brought in breakfast. Eggs, bacon, the whole she-bang. There was even orange juice. 

“How are you real?” Dick was painfully aware that he’d been grimacing when Jason entered, trying to lift his leg so he could lean against the headboard.

There was a sharp inhale, and Jason was by his side in a flash, the tray on the bedside table, his hands gently assisting Dick’s. “Don’t move it more than you have to. You overtaxed it yesterday.” 

“I’m aware, thank you,” Dick grumbled. He pulled the tray to his lap; a method of eating he was becoming overly familiar with. 

Jason was still hovering, though, for no discernable reason. Dick was ready to snap at him—he did not need _mother-henning,_ thank you very much—when there was a sharp inhale and Jason darted forward to drop a kiss into his hair. 

Oh. _Oh._

Dick smiled, careful not to look up, careful not to let Jason see his face that probably had ‘ _ugh, cuuuuuute_ ’ written all over it. Instead, he patted the spot by his side, and Jason joined him after fetching his own tray. 

They ate together, a quiet hope in the room. 

After breakfast was a whole different story. “Have at it, then.” 

Jason’s expansive gesture seemed to include the room, himself, and the entire universe around them. 

Dick blinked at him. 

“The yelling,” Jason reminded him. “Or, uh, calmly making your very rational points, whatever you like to call it.” 

“Oh, that.” 

“Yeah.” 

When it became clear that Jason was actually expecting Dick to say something, not just look at him in the artificial light of the spaceship and wonder, Dick cleared his throat. “Uh. I suppose you have a point. I’ll try to remember that.” He let his voice soften. “I hadn’t caught on yet, sorry. That you… would miss me.” 

That was a cop-out. Jason let him get away with it. “Now you know.” 

“I won’t forget.” 

“Cool.” Jason paused. “Okay, not gonna lie, I really expected there to be an argument, and now I have no idea how to continue.” 

Dick raised a brow. “I am a tad worried that’s all you think we’ll do.” 

“In my experience, cuddling doesn’t make for a relationship,” Jason pointed out drily. And like—Dick wanted to ask about Jason’s experience, he really did, that was definitely going to be on his list of discussion points in the future, but for now, he was just quietly elated that neither of them thought they would get out of this with anything less than a ‘relationship.’ “There’s a bit more to it than that, and I’m not sure we’re equipped for it.” 

“Oh, I’m terrified,” Dick admitted freely and with a smile. 

“You are?” 

“Are you telling me you’re not?” 

“Not afraid, exactly…” Jason hedged, and Dick snorted in disbelief. The younger man gave a half-smile at the sound. “Maybe a little bit.” 

“Tell me?” 

Jason crossed his arms in front of his chest. His eyes turned hard as if he was steeling himself, and Dick knew what would come next. “I’m not going to stop killing.” 

“No. I didn’t think you would.” 

“You’re Nightwing. If you really wanted to—if _Bruce_ wanted you to—you could take me out any time. Maybe not forever, but you could make Gotham really, really inhospitable for me.” Jason paused. “I guess I’m just wondering what happens the next time the bats take exception to my morals or my behavior.” 

People had a tendency to contrast him with Bruce. Light vs. dark, cheerful vs. gloomy, family vs. loner. To find out that Jason thought of him primarily as a _Bat_ … that meant something. Dick just didn’t know what. 

“I’m not _Bruce’s_.” 

Jason threw him an incredulous look, but Dick shook his head. “Not exclusively. Not in the way that matters.” 

He was Bruce’s because Bruce had raised him, was one of his fathers, had introduced him to this life. He was the Titans’, both because he believed in their cause and because they were his friends. He was the League’s because that was the right thing to do. He was Bab’s and Tim’s and Damian’s and Alfred’s because that was family. 

He thought he would like to be Jason’s, too. 

…maybe that would be a bit much to spring on Jason right now. 

“I don’t know how I’ll feel when I see you kill,” he offered instead. Not comforting. Honest. “However, I… trust that you don’t do it blindly, now. That it’s not about Bruce, or proving a point.” 

“I don’t know if I should be insulted or glad to hear it.” 

“The latter.” 

“I’ll think about it.” Jason’s eyes were softer, though, his posture relaxed. 

It wasn’t all that Jason was worried about, Dick knew. Hell, this wasn’t all that _Dick_ was worried about. That list was much, much longer; too long to be worked through in a day, or even a week, or even a year. Dick thought they might just make it. 

The days passed in quiet intimacy. They lived together, and next to each other, and sometimes there was yelling, but mostly there wasn’t. 

Dick was still in pain. Funnily enough, broken bones didn’t magically set themselves because of some unexpected romantic developments. He was quietly terrified of what the delay of surgery would mean for his recovery. 

At night, Jason wrapped himself around him like the best body pillow and human space heater combined into one gorgeous package. Even better than his physical presence, however, was his unshakeable conviction that together—they would be okay. No matter what the night would throw at them, they could do this. It was hard not to let that infect Dick just a little bit. 

( _I thought we were in this together_. Dick was beginning to understand Jason a little better now.)

From a certain point of view, they were taking it glacially slow regarding the more… couple-y gestures. On the other hand, they had only just stopped distrusting each other a little over a week ago. Then again, they _had_ known each other for a long time… Dick decided to throw relationship metrics out of the window and just enjoy what they had, for however long they had it. 

It was enough to just exist, for now. Get used to the other. 

Not that there weren’t highlights. Dick really, really liked to drop a kiss on Jason’s cheek when he said good-night if only for the way he could feel heat it up after. Jason returned the favor once, after he’d almost punched Dick after waking up from a nightmare, and all Dick had done was block it and hug him close. 

There were also hugs, and oh boy, Dick really liked those. Jason could lie still for ages, reading, and he never seemed to mind when Dick shifted in his arms every few minutes. 

And then there was the first time they held hands. 

“You think we would’ve gotten here without the bond?” Dick asked. 

Jason considered it. “I dunno. I mean, you hated me before this—” 

“I didn’t hate you.” 

“I did.” 

Dick tried not to let that hurt him. Jason must’ve seen something in his face because he reached out and took his hand. 

“I thought you were some kind of, I dunno, inhuman golden boy,” Jason told him, thumb rubbing circles on Dick’s wrist. “A shining example. Everything I’m not.” 

“Jay…” 

“Turns out, I like the real you much better.” 

Dick shook his head ruefully. “I’m mildly resentful that I would have any reason to be grateful to these alien pricks.” 

“You don’t have to send them flowers and a gift card anytime soon,” Jason said very reasonably, “they _did_ try to kill us. Twice. Just because the supposed soulbond made us understand each other for the first time…” 

All of a sudden, Dick giggled because— “Yeah, that—that didn’t happen because of the bond.” 

The glare Jason leveled at him was full of disbelief, but Dick felt giddy with the truth. 

“No, really—look, it kickstarted things, okay, got us to remove our heads from our asses enough to listen, but the only time anything actually changed was when we _talked_ , or showed that we cared, or stared into each other’s eyes while _wrestling_ , Jay, we’re not that fucking subtle.” 

“…huh.” Jason chuckled once, twice, and then they were both laughing, full-on, belly-clutching, tears-in-their-eyes _laughing_ , because what was their life? 

Jason was still holding his hand, though. Dick supposed he owned the Ki’ari at least a small bouquet for that. A small, poisonous one. Full of meat-eating plants. He’d ask Ivy for help. 

(Jason would find that thought very funny. Dick smiled and told him out loud, instead.) 

Sometimes, it was hard not to feel like Jason was just taking care of him because he had to. Dick was used to giving in relationships; having Jason care for him without reciprocating was grating. 

When he voiced that thought, Jason hit him. Like, not even gently. A full-on slap to the shoulder, and “As if you could stop taking care of me if you tried, moron.” 

After that, Dick noticed: Jason sleeping through the night. Jason’s trembling hand in his when the thoughts became too much, too loud. Jason laughing because of Dick’s jokes. Jason’s features soft, because around Dick, he could be. 

The day came when they approached Earth, and despite everything they’d talked about, everything they’d build, Dick could feel Jason withdrawing just the slightest bit. He was avoiding Dick when they tidied up after themselves, when they retracted the autopilot, when they suited up. The latter was an especially big feat, considering Jason had to help Dick get his uniform over the cast. 

Dick waited patiently until they were both wearing pants, then he said: “Jay.” 

“Yes?” 

“Jay. Look at me.” 

Reluctantly, Jason obeyed. 

Dick slid a hand to the back of Jason’s head, into those curls, pressing just enough to let him know what he wanted. For a second, Jason resisted. Then he let Dick guide their foreheads together. 

Dick’s eyes fell shut. Jason’s skin was cool against his, contrasting with the gentle warmth of his exhales. His pulse was starting to slow under Dick’s fingertips. 

Sharing the same air felt more intimate than sharing their thoughts. Jason would laugh if he could hear that. 

“You said I shouldn’t have assumed that you would leave me behind. You were right. So why are you doing the same to me?” 

“I’m worried,” Jason admitted. “We’re going home, and I’m so fucking shit at this whole relationship thing.” 

“Yeah, I’m much better.” 

A scowl. “Gee, thanks for the reassurance.” 

“What? I am. At the small things. Even some of the medium-sized things. The big things…. Not so much.” Dick smiled at him. “Just in case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty fucked up.” 

“I might’ve noticed.” Jason paused. “Same.” 

Dick wanted to kiss him. It felt strange, all of a sudden, that they hadn’t done that yet; they had shared a bed for more nights than Dick could count on his fingers, had bared their souls in more ways than ones. 

The moment for that would come. A romantic sunset, perhaps. A dramatic reunion after a battle. Or something simple, something them—a greeting in the morning, sweet with the taste of coffee and cereal. For now, though—

“I believe in _us_ ,” Dick whispered. 

Jason exhaled, shuddering in his arms, and Dick pulled him tighter, sharing his air with him in a way that felt more intimate than any kiss could ever be. He marveled at the power he had over Jason; the power that Jason had over him; that they were standing here, holding each other, shaking for no good reason at all (and yet every reason in the world.) 

_Everyone who loves you just wonders if you’ll come back alive_ , Dick remembered, and this time he heard the other truth hidden in there. 

He closed his eyes. Jason was warm against him, solid, real. They breathed together. 

Their ship was approaching Gotham, and Dick, for once, felt perfectly and gloriously safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Tags that didn’t make it: 
> 
> \- Emotionally stunted idiots falling in love  
> \- Just how contrived can a plot involving alien soulbonds be before it becomes too much  
> \- Is there such a thing as subconscious pining because that’s what’s happening here  
> \- Does this count as slowburn  
> \- My kink is ‘make them talk,’ in case you haven’t noticed yet  
> \- Yes 'BAMF' and 'needs a hug' goes together, okay


End file.
